the cold crawling of a sharp knife,
tasting your blood bitter than truth,
yet
sweeter than sin,
whispering gently
amen.

ripping apart your look for tomorrow
filling your eyes with glasses of sorrow
how does it feel,
ending it all at once,
and yet painting your beliefs
with the color of the blood you bleed?

but don’t worry one stab cannot be that bad,
please, don’t be mad,
pull yourself together and
the warmth inside your soul
may survive;

it could.

but the knife fell again,
not intentional,
a small mistake,
carving a name
on the back of your
heart,

did anyone survive?